


black leather and milkshakes

by gothyringwald



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Greasers, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff, Food, Leather Jackets, M/M, Motorcycles, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 22:05:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11022522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: The bike growls and soon they are speeding down the suburban street, no doubt scandalising all of Tina and Newt's neighbours, who peer out from behind their perfect lace curtains to gawk at them. Credence doesn't care, too much. Not with the solid warmth of Percy in his arms. The wind fresh in his face, tangling through his hair. He's not sure what's more exhilarating: the purr of the bike between his legs, or the wild beat of Percy's heart beneath his hand. He shifts closer, holds on tighter. Credence used to be so scared on the bike, but he loves it, now.





	black leather and milkshakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [graves_expectations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/graves_expectations/gifts).



> For [graves_expectations](https://graves-expectations.tumblr.com/) who, when we were chatting on tumblr, said: “WHERE IS THE 50s AU IN THIS FANDOM? where graves has a motorbike that credence shyly gets on the back of and revels in holding onto him for the ride” (and there was also mutual sharing a milkshake enthusiasm). I hope you like it. :)
> 
> Takes place in an alternate universe where the 1950s are basically the same (OK, they're more like the Grease and Happy Days vision of the 1950s) but a lot more progressive, basically.
> 
> Edit: completely forgot to [add a link to the edit I made for it](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/161159258185/black-leather-and-milkshakes-a-1950s-gradence).

Fall, 1959

The roar of a motorbike snaps Credence from his studies, drowning out the Buddy Holly record spinning on the portable player nearby. It had taken months before he could listen to that record without sobbing, crying himself to sleep every night for the rest of the winter and most of spring. Now, it's faded to a bittersweet ache. The room is cast into the purple blue shadows of dusk when Credence flips his lamp off. He peeks out the window and grins, drops his pen onto his notebook. His heart beats fast, and his palms are sweaty. The record skips as he bumps into the player and he pauses to lift the needle, dropping it back in its bracket.

Tina calls out as he passes the kitchen, sweater clutched in his hands – 'Are you going to be coming home tonight, Credence?' 'I wouldn't wait up.' – and then he's out the front door as fast as his penny loafers will carry him. The sight that greets him takes his breath away. There he is, Percy Graves, hair slicked back, leather jacket tight across his broad shoulders, leaning against a gleaming hunk of chrome and gasoline.

'Hey, baby,' Percy says, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his drainpipe jeans. When Credence is close enough, Percy grabs his hips, and pulls him in. He fits snug in the cradle of Percy's legs.

'Hi, Percy,' says Credence, hands pressed to the lapels of Percy's jacket. He runs his fingers over the worn leather, traces the edge of a stud. Percy tilts his head up with a finger tucked under his chin. Credence smiles and leans in for a kiss, his stomach flip-flopping when their tongues meet. They are pressed together from shoulder to knee, Credence's skin sizzling under Percy's hands on his hip, the small of his back. His head swims. Kissing Percy is like being struck by lightning. 

'Mmm, sweeter than apple pie,' Percy says when they pull apart. Credence blushes, even though Percy says it every time they kiss. A car drives past, a sultry song on its radio filtering out an open window. 

'I've missed you,' says Credence and Percy's lips quirk. He runs a thumb along Credence's lower lip and says, 'Me too.'

Credence curls his hand over Percy's bicep, where, beneath the leather, is the tattoo that bears his name. A white banner on a cherry red heart, pierced by an arrow. Credence had watched it being done, the buzz of the needle a sickening sound, asking the whole time, 'Are you sure you want to do it? It's _permanent_ ,' and Percy just saying 'Of course, baby,' calm as you like, as though someone wasn't injecting his skin with ink, over and over and over. Credence had had to look away when the tattooist wiped at the blood bubbling up, curled his fingers around Percy's free hand, squeezing, like he was the one getting tattooed and needed grounding.

'Hungry?' Percy fits a hand over Credence's waist, gives a gentle squeeze. Credence nods. 'Then let's go.' And then Percy is swinging his leg over the bike, patting the seat behind him. Credence climbs on, holding on tight to Percy's waist, arms slipped beneath his jacket. The bike growls and soon they are speeding down the suburban street, no doubt scandalising all of Tina and Newt's neighbours, who peer out from behind their perfect lace curtains to gawk at them. Credence doesn't care, too much. Not with the solid warmth of Percy in his arms. The wind fresh in his face, tangling through his hair. He's not sure what's more exhilarating: the purr of the bike between his legs, or the wild beat of Percy's heart beneath his hand. He shifts closer, holds on tighter. Credence used to be so scared on the bike, but he loves it, now.

They pull into the parking lot of their favourite diner, bike rumbling as Percy switches off the ignition and kicks out the stand. Percy slings a casual arm around Credence's shoulders, and they walk inside. Rock 'n' roll fills the air, blasting from the Wurlitzer in one corner, some couples dancing nearby, a blur of petticoats and letterman sweaters, saddle shoes flying over the floor. A blonde in a pink twin set, ponytail swinging, yells out 'Hi, Percy!', and then everyone else turns and waves, a chorus of 'Hi's and 'Hello's. Percy just nods back, cool as ever, with Credence smiling shyly, tucked against his side. 

Credence is all too aware of the envious eyes that land on him, the wistful sighs that follow the couple as they make for a table closer to the back of the diner. It doesn't unsettle like it used to but it still nags at the insecurities he's stored away, wondering what Percy could see in him, all awkward angles and shirts buttoned too high. Once, Percy had said people were every bit as envious of him, for getting to be with Credence, as the other way around. Credence had never quite believed him but the words thrilled through him, all the same, settle something between his ribs, when he thinks of them, now. He picks up a menu, pretends to read it, even though they always eat the same thing. Percy nudges his foot under the table, flashes him a grin and Credence smiles back, everything else forgotten.

A waitress in lemon yellow, face framed by a puff of platinum curls, mouth a smear of peach lipstick, comes over to take their order. Her bitten fingers hold a pencil poised over the small pad in her other hand and she says, 'What can I get you, fellas?'

'Two burgers with the lot, fries and a chocolate milkshake.' Percy pauses, looks at Credence, and winks. 'With two straws.' Credence blushes. There is something so romantic, so intimate, to him about sharing a soda or a milkshake. Leaning close, noses nearly touching, fingers brushing, breath warm over each other's face. He'd felt goofy when he first admitted it to Percy but, since then, it's always a chocolate milkshake or a cherry soda with two straws when they eat here.

Percy slips his jacket off, revealing a tight white t-shirt, sleeves rolled up, a battered pack of Lucky Strikes tucked into one cuff. He throws his jacket on the chair next to him and leans back, arm slung over the chair, legs splayed. Credence leans forward, elbows propped on the red Formica table, ankles crossed. His pulse flutters, the way it always does, when he sees his name in black ink on Percy's smooth, tan skin. His eyes drift down to the dagger on Percy's forearm, across to the red rose on his other arm. He never would have thought that tattoos could make his blood warm, this way, but then he doubts he will ever cease being surprised by what Percy can make him feel.

'I like that sweater on you,' says Percy, breaking Credence out of his musing.

'Oh.' Credence looks down, runs his fingers along the eggshell blue sweater gently. 'Thanks.' He looks back up to see Percy smiling at him in that small, nearly unnoticeable way and can only smile back.

The waitress sets their milkshake before them, two straws in it, and their food soon follows. It's hot, burgers fresh off the grill, fries still sizzling in the plastic basket. Credence squeezes ketchup onto his burger, the tang of it mingling with the greasy scent of the patty. They share the chocolate milkshake, first, leaning close over the table, feet tangled together. It's cold in Credence's throat, settling in his stomach, but it doesn't cool the heat in his cheeks as Percy stares at him, eyes dark and heavy. 

Credence pulls off of the straw. 'What?'

'You look cute in that sweater.'

'You already said that,' says Credence, a teasing edge creeping into his voice. Percy just shrugs and pops a fry in his mouth with a wink.

As they eat, Credence thinks of their first date, how nervous Percy had been beneath the veneer of leather and denim. It was endearing, comforting to think that a date with Credence could make someone like Percy nervous. But not enough to settle the butterflies that raged within his stomach. The ones he's certain will always beat furiously when their hands brush, or Percy looks at him a certain way.

They make short work of the burgers and fries, talking about their day, a new record Percy bought, Credence's classes at the community college, conversation punctuated by comfortable lulls. When they finish their food Percy stands, wipes his hands on the front of his jeans. 'Let's dance.' 

'You know I don't like to,' says Credence, looking at the couples dancing, 'not with all these people around.'

'C'mon, I'll put on a slow song. I know you like the slow ones.' Percy doesn't pout, at least Credence wouldn't call it that out loud – Percy is definitely too cool for that – but he feels his anxiety crumble beneath the weight of the not-pout, anyway. 'Please.' 

Credence sighs. 'OK.' He reluctantly slips his hand into Percy's and lets himself be pulled to his feet. His heart thunders. Percy slots a dime into the jukebox, presses the buttons. Click. Buzz. A soft whir as the requested 45 is called up and Percy leads Credence to the small space where a few couples dance.

Credence sighs happily as the first bars of the song ring out, the chords tingling through him from fingertips to toes.

_'Do you remember when we met, that's the day I knew you were my pet...'_

'You remembered my favourite song,' says Credence, head resting on Percy's shoulder. If he were any taller than the other man, it would be uncomfortable. But as it is, they're just the perfect fit.

'Of course,' Percy whispers, turning them on the spot. 

They hold each other close, swaying in time to the song, one of Percy's hands resting at the small of Credence's back, the other brushing over his face, his neck. Credence nuzzles into his warmth, inhales the scent of motor oil and Brylcreem. It's comforting and heady at the same time.

When the song ends, a faster one starts, but they stay in the middle of the floor, swaying slowly, until another couple, spinning wildly, bumps into them. Credence smiles, sheepish, and they go back to their table, hands entwined.

'Want dessert?'

Credence shakes his head, rests his foot on Percy's ankle.

Percy smirks and leans forward. He takes one of Credence's hands and presses a kiss to his knuckles. 'Want to go back to my place?'

Credence smiles, coy, and says 'Yes,' voice pitched low. Percy throws some bills on the table and they leave the diner, quickly, stepping out into the cool night air.

As they settle onto the bike, Percy says, 'Maybe I should get a car.'

Credence hooks his chin over Percy's shoulder. 'Why?'

'Can't neck properly on a bike.'

A startled laugh bubbles out of Credence and he presses his cheek to Percy's, stubble rasping against his skin. 'Can't wait, huh?' He squeezes his arms around the other man's waist. 'Your place isn't that far.'

Percy looks at Credence over his shoulder. 'It's far enough,' he says, then kisses him. The angle is awkward, their lips just barely catching, but it still has Credence moaning softly, breath hitching. Percy rests their foreheads together a moment, then pulls away to turn the key, bike roaring to life beneath them. Lights and traffic pass by in a blur as they speed down the road, on their way home. Credence is breathless against the wind and the racing of his heart, battering against his ribs, as he holds onto Percy, leather warm under his hands and the promise of Percy's apartment thrumming through his blood.

**Author's Note:**

> Come [find me on tumblr](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) :) 
> 
> The song Graves plays for Credence is _Sea of Love_ by Phil Phillips. And it takes place in the autumn of 1959 for no other reason than I wanted it to be set after Buddy Holly had died.


End file.
